


a good way not to die

by Kasuchi



Series: 'til the end of the line [1]
Category: Brooklyn Nine-Nine (TV)
Genre: Dark, Gen, Gun Violence, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, Implied/Referenced Underage Prostitution, Italian Mafia, Jossed, References to Drugs, Season/Series 01-02 Hiatus, Tasers, Undercover, Undercover Missions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-18
Updated: 2014-09-18
Packaged: 2018-02-17 20:06:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,454
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2321684
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kasuchi/pseuds/Kasuchi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><em>"You look like hell, kid."</em> Jake, undercover and alone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	a good way not to die

**Author's Note:**

> **Warning:** I used the **violence and dub con warnings** to be safe. I'm not kidding about this; some Bad Stuff goes down. If you aren't comfortable with the things that happen with the mob -- drugs, alcohol, prostitution -- and the consequences of that, **_don't read this_**. My tags are no joke.
> 
> Or, as I put it when talking this story over with a friend, "Trigger warnings. Trigger warnings everywhere."

**1.**

Jake decided he hated gyms. 

The last time, with Boyle, had been annoying enough. Now, he was all alone (well, in theory, the FBI TAC team backing him up was around somewhere, whatever) and apparently Leo and his crew were big CrossFit junkies. This meant he was forced to do things called 'deadlifts,' which were about as fun as their name sounded. 

"Fuck," he muttered, watching every tendon in Leo’s neck stick out as he squatted over 300lbs, his primary dirtbag entourage guy -- they all called him Vinny, though that was assuredly _not_ his real name, given how his background check had yielded zilch -- spotting him. 

Suddenly, someone cuffed him across the back of his head. Jake stumbled forward before whipping around. "What the hell?!" 

Mikey shot him a shit-eating grin. "Focus, Peralta. Your pull-ups still look like shit." 

"Fuck you, Gallo," Jake said, good-naturedly. "I'd like to see you run wind sprints, ya meathead." 

"Running just makes you hungry, dipshit, now quit yapping and grab the fucking bar." 

Jake rolled his eyes, reaching up. 

After they'd showered and changed, Vinny drove them all to dinner. Leo sat in the passenger seat, while Jake and Mikey took the back. As they drove over the Verrazano Bridge, Jake wondered why they always went to Staten Island for dinner. They parked in a dingy, poorly-maintained parking lot, the lines demarcating spots long since faded away, and filed into the pizza place, the rest of Leo's entourage pulling into the lot as the door shut behind Jake. 

It looked like it always did: like a too-perfect replica of a movie set of an Italian restaurant straight out of a movie, like My Cousin Vinny or Moonstruck. Only instead of it being a comedy, it was definitely sliding towards the tragic end of the scale.

Leo was sipping port and enjoying some obscene story Vinny was telling him, half in English and half in Italian, and while Jake could barely follow it, he could piece together that Vinny was making a series of sex jokes and vaguely racist puns. 

Beside him, Mikey and Tony were arguing with Nico about blood pudding and whether or not it had blood in it. On the other side, Lucca and Gino were placing the order for the table.

So when Jake was served a veal marsala with broccoli instead of pasta, he made a face at his plate. "What the hell is this?" 

"Shut up and eat like a man," Mikey retorted blythely, digging into his identical plate. 

Jake's eyes flicked to where Leo was sitting, noting that even though Leo was ostensibly listening to Vinny's ribald tale, his glass of port was leaning slightly in Jake's direction. 

Jake sighed internally, then shook out the napkin on his lap and picked up his silverware. "Fine, but just because you bought me dinner doesn't mean I'm gonna put out." When Leo, Mikey, and Tony laughed, Jake knew it was the right move.

A few weeks later, Jake did something he didn't think he'd have to do again after the academy: five picture perfect pull-ups. To celebrate, Mikey let him have cheesecake after dinner. "Aw, and here I was thinking I'd finally blow you for the trouble." Mikey muttered something like, "Cocksucking motherfucker," but Leo and Vinny grinned at each other across the table, and Jake knew he'd passed some kind of test. 

The proof came a few days later, when he saw Vinny whisper something into Leo's ear between sets of box jumps before another man approached. They did that one handed bro-hug Jake was used to seeing the crew do with one another. This time, though, he watched as Leo slipped the guy a large roll of cash. Rather, he saw Leo _allow_ him to see that handoff, given the way Leo sent him a single, grim nod when he caught Jake's eye. 

Jake ended up doing a superset of bench press that day, distracted by what the gesture meant. Mikey sassed him about his gains, but Jake was deaf to the insults. 

He was in.

**2.**

Leo somehow found out when Jake's birthday was, which apparently necessitated a constant circuit of parties and after-parties. Jake finally learned from a drunken Nico that Leo didn't believe in birthdays. Instead, everyone got a birth _week_. Jake mentioned this to his handler dismissively. Agent Clarke pointed out it was the perfect excuse for Leo to party for most most of the year -- and make it easier for Jake to gather intel. 

The incessant partying provided the cover he needed. Jake figured out pretty quickly when to fake extreme intoxication, crashing out for the night because everyone was too drunk and/or high to be doing business. While the others were stoned or passed out, he would go through the meager files he could access, taking photographs and uploading them to the cloud. It felt like the glamorous undercover cop movie he'd always wanted to star in -- there were beautiful, scantily clad women all night, a seemingly unlimited supply of liquor and cocaine, and license to act badly. 

In short: it was glorious.

It was also exhausting. 

"I've raided that place clean," Jake insisted, frustration and a latent, ever-present rage coloring his voice. He and Clarke were meeting in their designated spot, a coin-operated laundromat three blocks from his place that was open 24 hours. Jake brought a load of laundry there every Thursday night without fail. There sat Clarke, usually wearing sweats and reading a book, seated on a bench, ostensibly watching his own laundry tumble dry. "There's nothing left in that desk or in that office."

"What about trick drawers? False bottoms?"

Jake shook his head and slid down in his seat further. "I've checked. That desk is Ikea, it's not like there's a lot of options for hiding contraband."

"You'd be surprised," Clarke replied, voice dry. He put down his book and looked over at Jake, slouched in his seat, legs stretched out in front of him so that the toes were almost pressed against the base of the machines. "Take the next night off. Unless something big goes down, you don't have to do recon." He paused, pretending to flip through his book to find where he'd left off. "Maybe get some rest. You look like hell, kid." 

The next night, Jake went out with the guys, sandwiched between Lucca and Mikey while, as always, Vinny and Leo rode in front. Tonight, however, Leo drove, and he made a quick stop at a nondescript-looking residence before continuing on into Manhattan and over to 11th Avenue, to a seedy strip club on the Ianucci books -- three shell corporations deep, naturally. It wasn't the first time they'd been here, but it had been a couple of weeks since their last visit. 

Jake, dressed suitably badly in old jeans and a faded plaid button-down, a beat pair of Adidas kicks, and with his sleeves rolled up J.Crew style, shrugged when the bouncer gave him a second look. Manhattan had never been his beat anyway. 

"Donnie!" Leo shouted, embracing a suited man who was all smiles and boasted a pinky ring in what had to be solid gold. "My boy Jakey here is turning 34, can you believe it?"

"You look 28 if a day," Donnie assured him. Jake schooled his features into a smirk and gave him the jerky nod that Leo's friends seemed to do when faced with a compliment. It made Donnie's expression shift into something like approval. 

"I wanna do my boy right," Leo continued, draping an arm around Jake's shoulders. The touch was startling, and Jake smothered the urge to shake off the arm. "You gonna help us out, Donnie?" 

"For you, Leo? Anything." 

They were escorted to a VIP room and women poured them drinks and offered them molly or PCP if they were so adventurous. Jake managed to dodge questions by telling stories -- at first, fake ones about ridiculous criminals he'd never managed to catch, and then, later, four beers in and ignoring the alarms in the back of his head, true ones about Charles and Terry and growing up with Gina. 

Somewhere around 2AM, Leo's crew had scattered, finding darkened corners or open spaces on sofas for themselves and their companions. Jake made an unobtrusive exit, ducking out and catching a cab, heading back to his temporary dingy studio apartment in BedStuy, right on the edge of Bushwick. The cabbie refused to take him further than Williamsburg, which he didn't have the energy to argue. He threw some cash carelessly at the driver, well past the point of caring, and had wandered the remaining two miles home on foot, walking in the shadow of the JMZ, his walk punctuated by the roar of the train passing overhead, once in each direction. 

He climbed the trash-strewn stoop and then took the stairs up to the fourth floor, where his studio spanned the entire back of the building. Fumbling the keys, he let himself in and stripped off his clothes, not bothering to turn on the light, only the box fan in the window. He collapsed on the bed, clad only in boxers, and fell into fitful dreams that coalesced into a singular image.

He dreamed of Amy, naked and lithe above him, of fucking her -- there was no other word for it -- hard and rough, her dark hair spilling over her shoulders, head thrown back to expose the long column of her throat. All he could hear was his headboard knocking against the wall, loud and rhythmic, and he suddenly felt his orgasm slam into him like a freight train. He came with a loud groan and the feeling of her dissipated like so much smoke. 

The knocking, however, persisted. Coming to himself, he stumbled to the door and pulled it open, leaving the chain on, nerves still buzzing from the erotic dream. 

"You startin' the party without me?" came a voice, distinctly female, if raspy, from the other side. Through the scant two-inch opening, Jake could see it was a young woman, 19 if a day, with dishwater blonde hair that just barely brushed her jaw, the ends ragged like it had been hastily and inexpertly cut. 

"Who the fuck are you?" he asked bluntly, fatigue and that latent anger making him unwilling to play nice at such an ungodly hour. 

"Leo sent me," she replied flatly, then morphed her features into what was clearly supposed to be a sultry look. The smattering of dark freckles stood out in stark relief under the fluorescent lights of his hallway, as did the faded greenish edge of a bruise on her cheek. "He said to consider me something of an early birthday present." 

Jake shut the door and took a long breath, running a hand through his hair. Swallowing, he unlatched the chain and opened the door, letting her in. She started to strip as soon as the door was closed. 

"I don't kiss on the mouth," he said, trying for a joke he didn't feel. It fell flat immediately, the words lying broken on the floor. Jake tamped down an hysterical laugh.

The girl, now naked, turned to face him. "Wasn't gonna," she said, voice still devoid of inflection, and dropped to her knees.

* * *

The next morning -- afternoon, really, judging by the sunlight through the blinds -- Jake woke up alone and naked, feeling unnerved and dirty. He showered and headed over to Leo's brownstone in Boerum Hill, still unable to shake his unease, and was buzzed up into Leo's place. He took the stairs and was greeted at the door by Leo himself, who was all smiles and back slapping. 

"Jakey!" he said, putting an arm on his shoulders and drawing him inside. The others were sprawled out on couches, watching ESPN and munching on heros. "I heard you met Bettie last night. How'd that go?"

Jake felt his chest tighten. He forced bravado he didn't feel. "How do you think?" He smirked and wanted to scrub himself with bleach. 

Leo laughed. "I asked for the most motivated girl they had. Nothing but the best for one of my crew." He paused and pivoted to face Jake. "That reminds me. You've been living on unemployment so far, right?" 

Jake nodded slowly. "Uh, yeah." He shifted his weight back and forth. "The money runs out next month," he admitted.

"Don't sweat it." Leo grinned. "Starting today, you're on the Ianucci payroll. Congratulations, you got a job." Leo leaned against the kitchen counter casually, but Jake could see him sizing up Jake's reaction. "Let's move you outta that piece of shit studio in BedStuy. Do you know how much extra I had to pay for that girl to hoof it out there?" He clucked his tongue and Jake had to restrain himself from doing something stupid and blowing his cover. "I'm thinkin' we should put your hipster ass in Greenpoint." 

Jake laughed, trying to sound natural. "My hipster ass and my vintage car? Fuck no, Brooklyn Heights or bust." The others laughed at that. Jake chuckled too, but gritted his teeth when Mikey and Vinny slapped him on the back. Ducking out from under their arms, he reached for a sandwich. "A job, huh? Awesome. So, where we goin' tonight to celebrate?"

**3.**

Jake racked the semi-automatic weapon with practiced ease, then pointed the gun at the sobbing, bleeding mook kneeling on the ground. He remembered the pistol certification exam, all the instruction, and his arms made the motion naturally: elbow just shy of locked, the butt of the gun in his palm and the trigger finger poised. 

After a moment, he ejected the magazine and removed the sole bullet in the chamber by pulling back the slide, ejecting the cartridge with a snap. "C'mon, Leo, you know if I do it they'll know you made me." He swallowed hard and pushed the gun and magazine into Gino's hands. "Keep my hands clean, it'll pay off for you." Behind him, he heard the guy continue whimpering.

Leo looked at him for a long moment before nodding. "You got a point, Peralta. But let's get something straight." He stepped past Jake and, in a single smooth motion, pulled out his own pistol and shot the low-level thug, execution style. Lucca grabbed the shell casing and threw it into the water while Leo turned back to face Jake. Leo was grinning, but in the sodium lights along the dock it looked more like a baring of teeth than a smile. "Your hands aren't clean, Peralta. And they haven't been for a long fucking time." 

Jake looked down at the slumped-over body, bleeding out onto the concrete from the single, raised-edged circular wound, the back of his head splattered across the concrete. If Jake hadn't known any better, he would have assumed it was vomit. It reminded him of his first full autopsy, and he looked away. 

"Yeah, Leo," he said, shoving his hands in his jacket pockets to avoid the others seeing how badly they were shaking, and swallowed past the rising bile in his throat. "I know." 

**4.**

Leo's gifts came with a price. 

Jake's new place in Brooklyn Heights was furnished, moved into, and paid for by the Ianucci books, along with new clothes and some luxury goods. Leo sent him and Mikey on "errands" at least twice a week. Sometimes it was as simple as collecting or making payments to interested parties. Other times, he and Mikey played "Bad Cop, Worse Cop," as Mikey had joked, wiping his hands after viciously beating a wayward pimp who was late "paying taxes," as Leo called it, laughing all the while. 

Leo gave him a new phone -- the latest iPhone model, complete with a _Die Hard_ themed case. Two days later, Jake had "negotiated" a better price for product, restraining the seller's son while Mikey pinned the guy to the wall by his throat and demanded a deal. Needless to say, the guy acquiesced.

Gifts and favors had signalled Jake moving up the pecking order. He had more access to records, could listen in on more conversations,and was able to gather intel and pass it along. His meetings had changed, as well. Now, Jake met with Agent Delgado in the bodega by his apartment at 1:30 in the morning on Tuesday nights. Jake always bought smokes, and Delgado, dressed in wrinkled scrubs, always bought a six pack of light beer.

"When did you take up smoking?" Delgado asked one night, while they both perused the fridge doors. 

"About three months ago," Jake replied, remembering Mikey offering him a cigarette and Jake having no good way of saying no without looking like an asshole. "Gina used to smoke in high school." He accidentally-on-purpose brushed against her, sliding a flash drive into the front pocket of her scrubs. 

Delgado paused in reaching for the fridge door and looked at Jake directly, possibly for the first time in their entire association. "You look like shit, you know that? When was the last time you slept through the night?" She pulled open the glass door and stepped into the cold air, the glass fogging up.

"Four months ago," Jake replied, voice wry. He turned away and walked up to the counter, asking for his usual brand.

* * *

He started keeping coins in his pockets, certain that his iPhone was tapped or at least traced. He'd call from payphones near bars and clubs where Leo's crew was partying and maybe doing business at the same time, letting the phone ring twice before hanging up and waiting for the return call. The smoking habit was a good excuse for it, giving him fifteen minutes outside and away. 

The payphone rang back, and Jake could hear the slight hum that meant the line was secure. "Red Hook," he said shortly. "Tonight, 2AM. There's supposed to be a major exchange." 

"Roger," said the other voice, and then there was a click. Jake hung up his receiver and pulled out a cigarette, lighting it with experienced hands and taking a long drag. His jacket -- the least favorite one, the one he didn't mind smelling like ash and tobacco -- squeaked as he moved to lean against the brick building, the narrow alley offering him some solitude. 

"Who were you calling?" 

Jake started and pushed off the wall. Vinny stood at the only entrance to the alley, hands in his windbreaker pockets. "Jesus, you fuckin' scared me," Jake said, leaning back on the wall and taking another drag, hands shaking. 

"Can I get one of those?" Vinny pointed at the cigarette. Jake nodded and handed over the pack and the lighter. "Who was that call to?" 

Jake blew out a long stream of gray smoke and considered his options. "No one. Just a girl I used to know." 

There was a beat of silence. "She racked?" 

Jake resisted the urge to roll his eyes or punch Vinny or both. "Yeah. Tits like you'd never seen. Perky and shit." 

"Nice," he said, and leaned against the wall. "Had a girl like that once," he offered, unprompted. "Wish I'd called her when I was sober."

Jake had to laugh at that, a hollow sound that echoed between the brick buildings.

* * *

They were at Candelle, some hipster bar in Prospect Heights with twinkle lights strung up on the back patio. Leo was trying to chat up some girls with straight hair and granny glasses when Jake saw her from across the room. Her blonde hair was pulled into a low side ponytail, and she was wearing dark jeans, a white shirt, and a plaid button down tied into a crop top at her waist. Her chunky-heeled ankle boots completed the look of hipster-chic grad student in New York. 

Half an hour later, he felt her tap him on the shoulder. "Hey," she said, and grinned. 

He turned around and feigned surprise. "Hey! Bernice, right?" He hugged her briefly, Lagunitas 120 minute IPA bottle sweating in his hand, and stepped back.

She looked at him, taking him in. "Wow, you look....really different." 

_Shit_ , he thought, expression freezing. "Uh, yeah. Lotta things have changed for me in the last six months." He forced a smile. "Life! Am I right?" 

Bernice tilted her head slightly and swirled the glass of wine she held in her hand. "Yeah, I guess." Her expression shifted, and Jake felt his heart sink. "I didn't know you had curly hair." Her smile broadened slightly. "I kinda like it." 

"I get it from my mom," he blurted out, feeling himself revert to the version of himself he'd been six months ago, before Leo and his crew had taken him in. "How's the graduate degree going?" 

"Good! I just finished quals and I'm not looking forward to the results," she said, laughing. "What about you? Being a cop must be so cool." 

He froze for a long moment, the bottle slipping slightly in his slackened grip. He was saved from having to answer by Mikey coming over and slinging an arm around his neck. "Jakey! C'mon, we're gonna bounce." He looked over at Bernice. "Well, hey there, sweetheart, how you doin'?" 

Jake didn't have to feign his pained expression, and Bernice's mouth flattened into a line. Jake shook off Mikey's arm. "I'll be done in a sec," he said, and shoved Mikey back to the group. There was a silence for a long beat between Bernice and him. 

"It was good seeing you, Jake." She was half-turned away, ready to rejoin her friends. 

"You, too, Bernice." He smiled at her, the first genuine one he could remember in recent memory, though it was tinged with regret, and walked away.

Vinny was waiting for him at the bar, closing the tab. "That the girl you call sometimes?" 

One more lie wasn't gonna kill him. "Yeah," he replied, draining his bottle and setting it on the bar.

Vinny cast a surprisingly subtle glance towards Bernice, sizing her up. Jake wished he were drunker. "Eh, her tits are deece. I've seen better." 

Jake swallowed the last mouthful of beer. "She got fat," he said flatly, and the two of them walked out into the humid summer night air.

* * *

"I dunno how much longer I can do this," Jake said, a finger tapping the glass of the fridge door. 

Delgado turned to him, expression carefully neutral. "It's that bad?"

His laugh was humorless. "I can't sleep, I've taken up smoking, I can't talk to people I used to know…" He shook his head. "How much more do you need?" 

She pursed her lips and looked unseeingly into the fridge. "Not much more. Two weeks of work, then we'll raid, and you'll be debriefed and transitioned back. You'll be done in a month at most." 

"Two more weeks, huh?" He blew out a breath, and the fridge case's glass in front of him fogged up. "Okay." He walked over to the register, bought a Snickers bar instead of his usual cigarettes, and walked out.

**5.**

The strike brought Jake back to consciousness in the worst way. 

"Wake the fuck up," came Leo's voice. Shaking his head to clear his vision of stars, Jake took stock of his situation. They were in an abandoned warehouse, the cement floor largely clear, with the various other members of Leo's crew surrounding him. Jake noted Vinny and Tony beyond Leo, and assumed Mikey, Nico, and Lucca were behind him. His arms were tied to the chair, as were his legs, and he was wearing sweats and a white wifebeater, no shoes or socks. His cheek stung like a motherfucker, and seeing Leo shake out his left hand gave Jake some measure of satisfaction.

"Good to see you, too, Leo." Jake managed around his swollen lip. 

"Don't you fuckin' try that shit on me, Jakey," Leo said. The others backed up a step. "Mikey saw you meetin' with the feds." Jake swore internally; he'd known Mikey Gallo had been tailing him and he'd still been sloppy. In front of him, Leo grinned, and like that night on the dock, it was more a baring of teeth than a smile. "You've been snitching." 

Jake thought fast. "How stupid do you think I am, Leo?" 

Leo tsked. "Only my friends get to call me Leo, Jakey." He pulled out a device that looked like a remote control with two short antennae. _Stun gun_ , Jake's laggard brain supplied. "They tell me you get Tasered when you go to be a cop. That true?" 

Jake remained silent, keeping his expression blank. The left side of his face throbbed. 

Unbothered, Leo continued, pacing back and forth. "I feel like I oughta warn you. This guy? He's a bit different." Without warning, he pushed the device under Jake's ribs, pressing up slightly and digging the metal pins into him.

Every muscle in Jake's body contracted. It felt like he'd run full-tilt into a wall, and his back arched, straining against the bonds. When Leo pulled back, Jake felt his entire body collapse, the bonds and the chair the only reason he wasn't in a puddle on the floor. He took gasping breaths and flexed his hands. In the silence of the warehouse, his labored breathing sounded overloud.

"Now, Jakey," Leo said, voice smooth and moderated. "You're going to tell me everything you've passed onto the Feds, and I'm gonna give you a quick death. I might even do it myself. How does that sound?" 

Jake caught his breath and thought fast. "You really think I was giving those bastards good intel? C'mon, Leo, I'm not that stupid." Even to his own ears, his voice sounded false. He played into it. "Those bastards got me fired, left me out in the cold. You really think I'd rat you out to them?" 

"I warned you about lying to me." Leo shook his head and paced. "Hey, Vinny?" Leo idly checked the machine over, as if worried he'd dented the plastic body. Jake watched him out of the corner of his eye, a cold sweat breaking out over his body. 

"Yeah, boss?" Vinny was as unreadable as ever, and Jake realized he'd never heard Vinny call Leo "boss" before. It made Jake wonder what else he'd missed. 

"You know what I love most about stun guns?" Leo turned the device over in his hands. 

"What?" 

"They don't leave marks." He fired up the device again, Jake's eyes widening at the blue arc of lightning that passed between the two metal pins, before Leo dug it into Jake's hip.

The pain was worse this time, and it seemed to last forever. Somewhere, someone was screaming. When Leo pulled back, Jake felt his arms and legs shaking uncontrollably, like he was shivering, and his vision blurred. There was a slight ringing in his ears, and his heart felt like it was beating in syncopation. His body slumped over, once more sagging against his bindings.

"Last chance, Jakey," Leo said, fiddling with a setting on the stun gun. "You gonna do this the hard way or the easy way?" 

Half-delirious, Jake laughed.

"What's so funny?" 

"'Now I know how a TV dinner feels,'" Jake rasped, smirking at Leo's infuriated expression. 

Leo snapped his fingers. "Lucca." 

Jake was expecting Lucca to assault him, maybe clock him with a bat. He was not expecting to be doused in ice-cold water. "Fuck," he grit out, shivering harder. His clothes stuck to him, and the wifebeater was practically see-through. "Worst wet t-shirt contest ever," he muttered. 

"I'll miss that smart mouth of yours, Peralta." Faintly, there was the sound of cars passing by, although Jake wasn't sure if he was imagining the sound. He really wished he'd missed his drop with Delgado this time. Maybe if he had, at least his mom would have a body to bury, rather than an empty casket. Talk about something bad going down. 

There was a sound like sirens. Behind Leo, Vinny and Tony reacted, pulling out their weapons. He heard two more guns taken off safety behind him. 

This time, Leo pressed the stun gun against Jake's neck. It felt like Jake's skin was on fire. The screaming was back, and Jake realized it was his own voice he heard before blacking out, the world going sideways before it went dark.

* * *

When he came to, the all-too-familiar scent of disinfectant and bleached linen registered first. 

"Jesus, fuck," he said, voice hoarse. His throat hurt. Hell, his whole body hurt. He felt a straw nudge at his lips, and he took a long pull, his dry throat immediately relieved. Blinking, the room coalesced into the twin figures of Agents Clarke and Delgado. 

"I'm not back in BedStuy, am I?" he asked, sarcasm thick in his voice even with the effort. The two agents chuckled and visibly relaxed. "What the hell happened?"

"I said two weeks, Peralta, not ten days," Delgado said. Jake noted that she was in a suit for once. "We moved up the raid when we realized your GPS was off."

"You tracked my phone?" 

"You think we only kept an eye on your burner?" Delgado shot him a look.

Clarke rolled his eyes. "Also, one of our plainclothes guys saw your knocked-out ass getting stuffed in the trunk of Leo's car. We figured you'd been blown." 

"'Kay, but why am I in the hospital?" 

Clarke and Delgado shared a look. "What do you remember?"

Jake groaned. "Leo stunning me after Lucca dumped a bucket of water on me. _Cold_ water. I blacked out after that." Gingerly, he sat up and ran a hand through his too-long hair.

"That's 'cause your heart stopped," Clarke said gently. "Leo's stun gun was modded. That last charge sent you into cardiac arrest. We just barely got to you in time." 

"Shit," he breathed, and closed his eyes, pressing the heels of his palms against them. "Where the hell are we?" 

"Lenox Hill Hospital," Delgado replied. "Your mom's outside, taking a break. Should we…?" She trailed off, clearly out of her depth.

"Yeah," Jake said. "Just...give me a minute." He took a long breath in and let it out as they exited, fingers pressed against the bridge of his nose. He inhaled again, blowing out a cool breath as the door swung open. 

**\+ 6.**

She was walking up the street to her building from the train, headphones in and hair pulled back because she had just gone to the gym, when she heard her phone chime, as well as felt it buzz from deep inside her purse. Cursing under her breath, she rummaged through the bag, following her headphone cord, until she found the slim rectangle and checked her messages.

_You're welcome. --R_

Rosa's text wasn't out of character for her, but Amy could usually puzzle out context for the terse statements. This one didn't make any sense. Shrugging, she turned back to her bag and rummaged for her keys until she was at the stoop of her building and noticed the way was blocked by someone.

"Hey Raynor, what's going on?" She greeted the usual homeless guy who made his home on her stoop, still digging through her bag. 

"Uh, hey." She looked up suddenly, bag falling to the concrete because, seated on the steps to her building was Jake Peralta in the flesh. She froze and looked at him. His hair was too long, the ends curling, and he looked a little broader in the chest than he had before. He wore a black t-shirt, jeans with frayed hems, and a beat pair of Chucks. Aside from the taped-up cut on his left cheek, he looked largely unchanged. 

"Jake," she heard herself say, still a bit stunned. "What are you--"

He stood and stepped down, dusting himself off. "It's done," he said, his expression hard to read. It was the way he smiled -- closemouthed and a fraction of his face -- that made her reach out impulsively and pull him into a hug, chin tucked over his shoulder and arms around his neck. She felt him stiffen and then his own arms came around her waist. 

"Welcome back," she said quietly, not caring that she was post-gym in early autumn or that she probably looked like a mess. She breathed him in -- soap and talc and his aftershave -- and held on. 

"Good to be home," he replied, tone striving for jovial but she heard something else in his voice. 

She stepped back and picked up her bag, looking at him for a long moment. "I was gonna order takeout," she said slowly. "You wanna join me?" 

He searched her face, a dark and inscrutable look, before nodding. "Yeah, I'll stay a while."

**Author's Note:**

> The most important part: there's a sequel. There's a third story in this universe, too.
> 
> While I have a lot of notes, I'm gonna keep these as short as I can.
> 
>   1. A thousand thank-yous to **40millionyears** and **diaphenia** , who served as beta-readers, cheerleaders, idea herders, and who consistently asked me to make this tighter, better, more nerve-wracking. I owe you both a great debt.
>   2. Title is from _Captain America: Winter Soldier_ , as is the series name.
>   3. How intense is that, this story starts in a gym and an Italian restaurant, very _Entourage_ right? It's been over a month since I wrote this; that bit always gets to me.
>   4. "I don't kiss on the mouth." -- It's a movie reference, to _Pretty Woman_ , the Richard Gere-Julia Roberts film where she's a call-girl.
>   5. Fun fact: NYC unemployment lasts about a year, not a mere few months. You get portioned out a weekly allowance that tops out at a little over $400/week.
>   6. Candelle is based on [Macri Park](https://foursquare.com/v/macri-park-bar/46e643f4f964a520c14a1fe3) and [Bushwick Country Club](https://foursquare.com/v/bushwick-country-club/43276800f964a520bc271fe3).
>   7. "Now I know how a TV dinner feels." -- Die Hard quote. You can see why it pisses Leo off.
>   8. This story owes a huge debt of gratitude to [(if we make it through the night) we'll watch the morning sun](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1388401) by veroniques, whose story gave me the courage to try my hand at the same idea. She did more in under 1500 words than I ever thought was possible.
>   9. I also owe a shoutout to [the Interaction doublet](http://archiveofourown.org/series/88482) by **YankeesGirl28** because she had done a treatment of this idea first. I'd be remiss if I didn't acknowledge that. I think our stories go in different directions, but we're both working with the same tools. :)
> 



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